


Do you... well... I mean... I could give you a massage?

by coolification



Series: Those prompt thingies [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Falling Castiel, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Massage, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Pre-Slash, Season/Series 05, Short One Shot, Tumblr Prompt, Wingfic, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 04:13:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3474023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolification/pseuds/coolification
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More and more human each day that passes, Castiel's wings start troubling him, and Dean offers his help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do you... well... I mean... I could give you a massage?

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt came from [this post here](http://venusdebotticelli.tumblr.com/post/112529435581/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-number-and-ill-write-you), and you can find the ficlet itself [here on tumblr](http://venusdebotticelli.tumblr.com/post/112538312026/destiel-and-4).
> 
> 4 - “Do you…well…I mean…I could give you a massage?”

He had been doing it a lot lately, and Dean was starting to get concerned something might be wrong with him. At first he didn’t think much of it when he saw Castiel shrugging his shoulders repeatedly on the back seat as they drove; maybe he was just playing with his vessel, or maybe the long drive did tire his muscles and he didn’t know how to deal with it, angelic being that he was. It was a little weird, but not especially outstanding among all the weird things he usually did, so he decided not to pay attention to it.   


Until one day he opened the motel room door to find Castiel gripping the edge of a table with enough strength to leave his knuckles white, violently arching his back in strained angles, a pained moan trapped in his throat.

"Whoa, hey, hey, buddy, you okay? What’s wrong?" Dean left the plastic bag with the groceries on the table as he grabbed the angel’s arm, unsure what to do. Castiel looked at him with a tense expression, sweat beading on his forehead.

"It’s my wings. I don’t know what’s happening to them, but they hurt. It feels as if there was holy fire running through them."

"How’s that possible? They’re not physical are they?"

"They’re not, but they’re still—" his breath caught sharply as he tensed and moved his back again, "they’re still part of me, I can feel them. I think this may be related to my loss of power. The weaker I become…"

"Is there anything I can do to help?" the sour laugh he received in response was unexpected, the memories of that apocalyptic future the only time he had seen such a human reaction from Castiel. He tried to contain a shiver at the thought.

"Unless you possess the ability to alter that plane of existence, I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do, Dean."

"But, there must be something else. I don’t know, do you… well… I mean… I could give you a massage?" Castiel looked at him for a moment that seemed too long before finally agreeing to try, and Dean helped him to the bed, took his trenchcoat and suit jacket from his shoulders as he instructed Castiel to take his shirt off.

Castiel didn’t look like himself without all his usual layers, and Dean found his eyes captured by the soft curves of his surprisingly broad shoulders, his tanned skin, the mole over his right nipple, until his whole torso shook again with a new wave of pain, and he made him lie down on the matress. 

And then the sight of Castiel’s back froze him right on the spot. From his shoulder blades, all the way down to his lower ribs, two parallel lines of red bruises flanked his spine, a disturbing contrast against the soft skin.

"Shit, Cas, this looks real bad. Tell me if I hurt you, okay?"

He gently raked his fingers down the angel’s back a few times, trying to gradually increase the pressure each time to see how much he could take. Castiel insisted his touch didn’t hurt him, so he started working from his shoulders and slowly made his way down. Dean wished he had some kind of oil to make his movements smoother, to really get the full relaxing effect that weekend with Cassie all those years ago had showed him oil could achieve, but in lack of it he ressorted to his own assets.

He made sure his hands moved with care, with firm purpose, a reassuring dance, a pattern that spoke of his instinct to nurture and protect those he cared about. He let the warmth of his voice fill the silence around them, anecdotes from his and Sam’s childhood, the plot of a book he’d read once at twenty-two and had stayed with him through the years, his favourite places to drive through in his many trips around the country, the way his music used to make him feel like he was flying on the road and everything was alright in the world, and how even now in the days of the apocalypse those memories still brought some leftover comfort. Castiel’s breathing had become deeper, slower, more rhythmic,  and the tense knots had melted away into relaxed warmth.

"How you feelin’, Cas? Is this helping?"

"I can still feel them hurting, but now it seems more bearable. Thank you, Dean. Please, don’t stop."

"It’s alright, buddy, anything you need."


End file.
